Catch Me: Because You Already Have
"I can't help that I don't believe, I wish I did"
You can help it. You can make the effort to understand what faith really is. And in doing so you will gain the trust that eludes you now. It's literally what faith is and does.
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1).
And so, this is the thing. What drives faith is the hope. Faith is both a belief (assent to propositions like "God exists" ) and an act of trust (relying on God even when circumstances look contrary).
Example: "I have faith in you" = I trust you deeply, even if the available evidence is limited right now. Kierkegaard called it a "leap" beyond what reason can secure.
We all live by faith constantly:
You have faith the plane won’t crash when you board it, to some degree you take your chances.
You have faith that other drivers will mostly stop at red lights, sometimes you're wrong, but you're never going to get anywhere if you won't drive.
You have faith that your own thoughts and memories of yesterday are roughly accurate. You couldn't rest if you didn't find a certain degree of satisfaction that you've had happen what you hoped would happen.
Faith is trust or confidence placed in something (or someone) that goes beyond what can be strictly proven right now.
Taking a leaf of faith is not just a generic "believe harder" recommendation. It is a radical, existential decision made in the face of objective uncertainty and paralyzing risk. It's bold, it's risky, it's beyond what a simple minded human person can do.
Hope is the engine.
Faith is what keeps walking when the map runs out. Where your reason and limited understanding fails. Every single day, all of us (believers or not) step off a hundred little cliffs trusting that the ground will appear: the brake pedal will work, the surgeon’s hands will be steady, the person we love will still choose us tomorrow. In that sense, we’re all practicing micro-leaps constantly.
And once that faith takes hold, truly takes you, then the Holy Spirit becomes the administrator of your life. When faith is no longer just something you have but something that has you, that’s when the shift happens. The New Testament calls it being "born again," "sealed with the Spirit," or simply "walking in the Spirit." You stop being the sole manager of your own life and discover that Someone gentler, wiser, and infinitely more alive has taken the wheel. Then comes what you've been waiting on: daily revelation, ongoing growth and the breath of life.
The apostle Paul puts it starkly:
"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20).
In that moment, faith stops being an effort you maintain through your religion and becomes a relationship you inhabit. The Holy Spirit becomes your new center of gravity.
He convicts (not to condemn, but to heal).
He illuminates Scripture so it stops being a textbook and starts being a conversation.
He prays in you and through you when you have no words left (Romans 8:26).
He produces fruit that your own willpower could never fake: love, joy, peace, patience...especially when circumstances say none of those things should be possible.
Then you realize what was eluding you all those years before. That’s the moment the whole story changes tense; from "I was trying to find God" to "He found me, and He never let go."
It's the difference between religion and resurrection.
Religion is me standing outside a door, knocking, polishing my knuckles raw, hoping someone answers. Resurrection is waking up and realizing the door was never locked. He was already inside the house, waiting for me to notice He’d been carrying me the whole time.
Scripture stops being a rulebook and starts breathing. Prayer stops being a monologue and turns into listening. Sin loses its glamour because you’ve tasted something infinitely better. You realize what was eluding you wasn’t information, or discipline, or even morality.
It was Life Himself.
I'm not arguing a doctrine right now. I'm describing the moment a heart stops striving and starts resting in the only place rest was ever possible. I'm talking about the hope that carries us across the rubicon and into the celestial city. You can’t manufacture that moment from the outside. No amount of clever reasoning or data or even sincere admiration can force the leap. It’s always a gift, always an invasion of grace, always the Spirit Himself breathing where He was only knocking before.
I understand the difficulty, reason can grasp that a human teacher named Jesus lived and died, but reason cannot grasp that this teacher was identical with the eternal God. Not until that reason has the backup of the Holy Spirit. The moment the mind tries to comprehend it fully, it crashes. Therefore, Christianity can never become objectively certain or provable on its own. The leap is not a conclusion you reach after weighing evidence.
It is a passionate, decisive act of the whole existing individual in the moment of decision. It's surrendering every other claim. Against all reason and probability.
The agnostic who takes the leap, is at first inwardly living in this double movement every second; infinite resignation, and against all reason and probability he takes the leap. Only the second movement is the leap of faith. Infinite resignation alone produces the tragic hero (beautiful, but not yet Christian).
Doubt is a part of that faith. The person praying with infinite passion that Christianity is true, while trembling at the possibility that it might not be, is infinitely closer to truth than the cool, detached professor who concludes with 99.9 % probability that it is.
There is no crowd leap. No one can leap for you. You stand alone before the living God. Church tradition, family upbringing, cultural Christianity, all of that can prepare the ground, but at the decisive moment every individual must leap alone.
Imagine you're standing on the edge of a dark abyss. Reason hands you a flashlight that illuminates 99 steps before you, steps descending into the abyss. But the 100th step is hidden in the fog beyond. You can stay safely on the 99th step (that is the ethical, the aesthetic, or the merely religious A stage). Or you can leap into the fog, trusting that arms you cannot see will catch you.
That is the leap of faith.
It is the most irrational thing a human being can do.
You are forced to bet your life on one of two possibilities:
The Christian God exists (specifically the God revealed in Christ who offers eternal salvation or eternal loss).
Or...
This God does not exist (or at least, no God who judges and rewards exists).
You cannot avoid the bet.
Not deciding is itself a decision (you’re living as if God does not exist).
My advise: Stop calculating. The risk and the passion are the point. Leap! In the end, neutrality is impossible. You are always already betting your life. And contrary to what many will suggest, you can't fake it till you make it. Prudential reasoning by definition is not real faith. This reduces God to a cosmic insurance policy.
Some say a cynical wager is better than indifference. That God can handle insincere beginnings. But what if God punishes people who believe only out of self-interest? The gospel talks about this probability in the parable of the talents.
The third servant in the parable of the talents buries the money (the gift of faith) out of fear and self-protection, exactly the same motive as the cynical wagerer who "believes" only to cover his bases. The master’s response is terrifying: "You wicked and slothful servant...Cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness" (Matthew 25:26, 30).
The gospel lays the whole thing bare: the abyss, the fog, the solitary moment, the double movement, the terror, the invitation, the absolute refusal to let anyone settle for a safe, calculated half-faith. Admiration is still a form of staying on the 99th step.
Jesus leaves us with only one honest response. He's not asking us to manufacture the moment. He's testifying that the moment is a Person, and He does the catching. Everything else is fear wearing the mask of prudence.
Yield. Just yield.
Give up the finite.
Live as though the impossible is already true.
No more footnotes.
No more safe distance.
No more holding one foot on the 99th step.
Give up the right to understand first.
Give up the right to be safe.
Give up the last pretense that you can manage your own leap.
Stop trying to push a huge rock up your hill. Just take a walk with God.
Right now...Pray
Jesus,
You are the impossible that has already become true.
You are the arms in the fog.
You are the resurrection and the life.
I have nothing left to offer but the fragments I’ve been clutching.
Take them.
Take me.
Let the double movement happen in me:
first the knife, then the absurd joy that believes the ram is already in the thicket.
I’m stepping off.
Catch me.
Because You already have.
Amen.